Why?
by NAOA
Summary: After World War two, Francis is feeling a bit lost in all of the destruction and goes to Artur for help. Oneshot!


**So, this is a oneshot that's basically Arthur and Francis discussing why bad things happen it's not necessarily religious, though God is mentioned, I think it's more about needing comfort when things are bad. Please enjoy.**

Francis picked his way through broken glass and broken buildings to where a lone, solitary figure in green sat smoking a cigarette and surveying the decimation that surrounded him.

He came up quietly, hearing only the sound of broken glass crunching beneath his feet and stood next to the little man for a moment before speaking. "What did they do to deserve it?" He asked, voice void of any emotion.

The little man looked up. He didn't look nearly as miserable as the Frenchman felt. He had a mild, almost board look on his face. "Well, it was a blitz, no one really deserved it." He said.

Francis frowned, looking around at the destroyed city block that surrounded them. "Still, so much damage and loss." He said, unable to take in so much ugly in the world. "If they didn't deserve it, than why did it happen?"

The little man, English to the core and possessing that Oxford air of an older man turned to look at him, left heel resting on right knee in a relaxed fashion. "Well, like I said. It's got nothing to do with deserving. It just happened." He seemed almost blatant in his refusal to see any spirituality in the matter.

Francis shook his head, despairingly. "I just can't fathom it." He said.

Raising his thick eyebrows in honest surprise Arthur puffed heavily on his cigarette. "It's alright." He cast an eye around. "I'll build it all up again. Press on!" He spoke with sharp, forceful gusto.

"Can you build up all the lost lives?" Francis asked mournfully.

For once the little Englishman's face fell and his bravado passed and for just the briefest of moments true grief could be seen on his face but he covered it up, puffing aimlessly on his cigarette for something to do. "No." He said shortly and in an almost musical tone. "No. I can't do that. But _they_ can." He pointed out to a group of schoolboys who were running a muck in the ruins of what had once been their school. "Hey you little shits!" He yelled. "Be careful! That's liable to collapse at any moment!" One of them turned and made a face at him, giving him a dirty gesture.

Francis smiled weakly. "I suppose that's true." He had tears in his eyes but he would not let them fall.

"Of coarse it is, old chap." Arthur spoke again with a briskness seldom found outside of the British.

"But try as I might, I just can't make myself get over it." Francis sank to sit next to him. "I mean, _so_ man people are dead!" He almost yelled. "I believe in God, it's what I was taught to believe in. But how could he have let this happen?"

Arthur stubbed out his cigarette without saying anything and took his time in lighting another one before finally saying: "So that's what the matter is. _Why do bad things happen to good people?_"

Francis nodded. "Little children have died! Little children who could have done no wrong!"

And again, pity and anguish passed over the little Englishman's face. "I know." This time he looked around with pain at the ruins and this time they were not just ruins, this time he saw or rather knew that when the buildings had been destroyed, people had died. That lives had been lost. He hadn't wanted to think about that. It hurt too much. He stared off sadly into the distance. "I can't answer you. I don't know myself." There were a million things he could have said. He could have said that war was war or that God had a higher plan or even that Heaven was waiting but none of it would have helped either of them. None of it would have made them feel better or helped placate the grief that threatened to overwhelm them.

Francis sighed and his shoulders drooped. "Let there never be a war like this again." He whispered.

Arthur nodded. "I didn't think there would be after the first war." He snorted. "The great war. I guess I was right. This was worse. Well, in a way. I suppose they've each been wretched in their own ways."

Francis nodded. "Yeah."

Regaining his British trademark of a stiff upper lip, Arthur squared his shoulders. "Well, wars' over and I intend to move on. Build it up and carry on. I've got a lot of work to do."

Francis laughed a little. "Your spirit embodied in one line: _The show must go on."_

Arthur smiled himself. "And so it must. I can't be stopped by a few bombs." He eyed Francis beadily. "And neither can you. Pick yourself up and start again."

Francis smiled blearily. "I don't know if I can."

"Oh, nonsense. Of coarse you can! You just haven't tried. Your occupation is done, the Germans are back in Germany and-" He cast an eye around. "The Americans are back in America. You know, that bastard Alfred is the only one who didn't get his cities destroyed. I have half a mind to take what's left of my bombs and head over there. Give him the old one two!"

Francis laughed quietly. "But he'll send help." He said. "He'll send money to help us rebuild and get back on our feet. He always helps me, I suppose he feels as though he owes me for that revolution of his."

England breathed dryly. "Yes, I feel as though he owes me for that revolution too." He laughed loudly at his own joke to show he was kidding. "But he did well, for a sprout." Then the humor left his eyes. "But that bomb." He said. "The one he used at the end. If I had known he had something like that tucked up his sleeve." He shook his head. He wouldn't say it but he was desperately curious about it and horrified at the same time.

Francis shivered a little. "I know. I never thought he would come up with something like that."

"Well, anyway. No sense crying about the past. You can't change it." Arthur looked kindly out at the boys still playing. "They're the future. They're the ones we've got to make a path for. I'll see right by them."

Francis nodded "Oui. I have my city back. Paris is mine again. I will never lose her again."

"That's the spirit! Persistence and dedication."

Francis tried to smile but the power had left him. He sat mournfully again, his feeling of emptiness returning. "I just wish that.. ." He paused, not knowing what to say. Arthur had not settled his feelings of confusion.

Arthur looked at him sadly. "Look, there's no point in it. Men have been asking the same questions for generations. Why do bad things happen? Why do the wretched always seem to prosper when the good suffer? It goes on forever and there's no answer. You'll only ware yourself out asking."

But don't you see? I must ask!"

Again Arthur looked at him pityingly. "I'm telling you, there is no answer. Maybe men find out when they die. I wouldn't know, I've never died." He meant it as a joke but it wasn't funny. "Do your best and keep living. You've pulled yourself out of times like these before. As for me, I already know what I'm going to do. Build it up and start again." He seemed driven to that point.

Francis knew he was right. He'd lived a very long time and no answers ever came to him but just this once he wished they would. He didn't think he could bare to go empty much longer but Arthur was stubbornly refusing to speak of such matters, instead he sat quietly, looking out at the children playing and thinking to himself.

Arthur sighed, his companion was radiating absolute misery. "Look, are you going to sit there brooding for the whole day or are you going to pick yourself up and get moving?" He knew what the man was having. It was a mess and there was nothing he could do to help.

"I know and I'll get moving again soon but right now I just don't know what to do!"

Arthur stubbed out his second cigarette. "Go to your church if you think it'll help. Go and pray. Go and be among the people who've survived, let their strength strengthen you. Go and see hat there is still joy in the world and then press on. It's all you can do in this world, Press on."

Francis smiled again. "I'd like that. I'd like to see everyone happy again."

"And one day you will. One day, everyone will put tragedy behind them. They'll learn from it and keep it in their hearts but the won't let it control them. They won't let it ruin them and they won't let it rule them."

"You're right."

"And as to weather God allowed this or not, do you really believe God is the one who makes bad things happen? It's men who do. There was an author, Joseph Conrad, Polish actually but he lived here in England, he said once that: _"The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.". _Men create war. Men create pain. Men kill."

Francis nodded. "I know. I wish that they could see what happens when they do. Perhaps, if men saw all of the pain they inflict then they would never hurt one another again. You know, perhaps that's what Hell is! Maybe everyone has to realize the pain they've caused others! That would be wonderful! Then no one would ever try to harm another person." He hung his head. His voice had choked on the last sentence and he was ashamed.

Arthur watched him silently. Francis was hurting and he did not know what words to give him to ease the pain and it hurt him because he knew the pain the man was feeling and he did not want to be reminded of it. He did not want to feel it. "Maybe that is what hell is. I wouldn't know. Don't think on it. It'll only hurt."

"But I must."

Arthur took his hands. "Francis, please cheer up." He was shocked to see the tears on the Frenchman's face and yet completely understood why they were there. "Oh, please."

Francis nodded, swallowing. "I'm sorry." He put a hand over his mouth. He could not stop his tears.

Arthur could only watch him in dismay and tentatively he put a hand on Francis's back. "It's alright." He whispered. "Francis, it's alright."

Slowly, the Frenchman wiped his eyes. "Thank you." Arthur handed him his handkerchief. "Thank you." He said again. And it was with great strength that he pulled himself away from his pain. "Thank you for listening."

"Of course I listened." Arthur said, lighting another cigarette. He couldn't think of any other words but at the moment, he was glad he was not alone. Francis had stirred up too much pain in him.

Francis smiled into the setting sun. "I think I'll return to Paris and do as you say. I'll build it back up. I'll make it better than before."

Arthur smiled as well because he could think of nothing else to do. There was nothing either of them could do other than build their cities back up. They would have to start again and as Francis said, make it better.

**Thank you for reading!**


End file.
